


let's get lost tonight (baby you and i)

by AshDoesFandom



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bedsharing, Carol-centric, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Starfleet Academy, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Unrequited Love, Weddings, because i'm not a fucking coward, me an intellectual: actually there's zero canonical evidence that she was y'all are just sexist, mentions of Tarsus IV, these babies are cadets, winona's a+ parenting is actually a+ parent, you: winona kirk was abusive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshDoesFandom/pseuds/AshDoesFandom
Summary: “I need a favor,” Kirk interrupts, all traces of cockiness leaving him.Carol flounders for a moment in confusion. “If this is some kind of sex thing—”“Why the fuck do people always assume—it’s not a sex thing. I mean.” He pauses, suddenly looking nervous. “Not quite.”“Okaaaay,” Carol says, thrown by his sudden uncertainty. “Care to elaborate, or are we just going to sit here looking pretty all night?”Kirk looks like he wants to remark on her last comment, but swallows it down.“I need you to date me for a week.”
Relationships: Aurelan Kirk/George Samuel Kirk, Christine Chapel & Carol Marcus, George Samuel Kirk & James T. Kirk, James T. Kirk & Carol Marcus, James T. Kirk & Winona Kirk, James T. Kirk/Carol Marcus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> (title from Lost in Japan by Shawn Mendes) 
> 
> me: you have one year old star trek wip, a new multi chaptered/multi-fandom wip you just started, an entire semester of college ahead of you and a part-time job
> 
> my brain: multi-chaptered kircus fake dating au
> 
> me: shit u right

Carol leans back against the wall, her hands curled on the floor uselessly. She’s alone in the empty hospital hallway. The echo of gunshots are still sounding in her ears, invisible blood still staining her hands. The only thing reminding her that it wasn’t all just a bad dream are the bracelet of bruises scattered around her wrist.

A clock ticks in the background, louder than memories, only just grounding her to reality.

It’s been four hours since the doctor’s took her mother into the operating room. Four agonizing hours. In that time, her father had been arrested, Project Genesis was confiscated by Section 31 and Carol has signed more gag-orders than she ever cares to see again. 

Not that any of it matters. Nothing seems to matter right now.

“Carol,” a soft voice says, coaxing her out of her own head. “Carol, baby, I need you to look at me.”

She slowly turns her head and blinks at person kneeling in front of her. Christine puts a hand on her shoulder, face pinched with apprehension.

“How long have you been sitting here?” her best friend asks, gently.

Carol swallows and opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. The nurse sighs and begins coaxing her off the ground. “You’re in shock,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you home.”

“She’s dying,” Carol croaks. “She’s dying and it’s my fault.”

Christine frowns. “Honey—”

“I should’ve…I should have _noticed_ ,” she whimpers. “He’s my father, why didn’t I notice?”

An arm wraps around her. “This isn’t your fault,” her friend hisses protectively. “Don’t ever say this is your fault.”

Carol buries her head in Christine’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Carol—”

“I’m a scientist, I should have seen it. It was so obvious.”

“It also _wasn’t your fault_. You trusted him. Trust makes you blind.”

“But—”

“Carol, if you say it’s your fault one more time I’m gonna go hunt that son of a bitch down and put a bullet in his brain.”

Carol drops her head onto Christine’s shoulder again. “You say that like I’d be against it,” she mutters.

Christine laughs painfully. “Yeah.” A hand starts petting her hair. “You gonna press charges?”

She shrugs. “Dunno. It’d take one hell of a lawyer to make a case.”

“If you do, I’ll testify,” Christine promises.

Carol leans on her friend heavily. “I know,” she whispers. “You’re a really good friend, Christy.”

Christine drops her chin onto Carol’s head. “You’re the best of us, Carrie.”

Carol closes her eyes, breathes, and wonders if there’ll ever be a day where she truly feels happy again.

* * *


	2. I’m Not Tryna Fall For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In front of her is a familiar figure. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a lithe body wrapped up in a black leather jacket: James Tiberius fucking Kirk slides gracefully into the seat opposite of her and takes a noisy gulp of his own coffee.
> 
> “‘sup Marcus,” he greets casually, as if they like. Know each other.
> 
> “Hngh?” she replies. You know, like a moron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ Jim: god you r a fucking mess my son 
> 
> me @ Carol: ur doing amazing sweetie

**Three years later**

Its 11:00 something PM on a Saturday night in early March when Carol’s life gets turned upside-down. She’s in the beginning of her last year at the academy and it shows. There’s heavy bags under her eyes, her hands are shaking from the copious amount of coffee consumption, and she’s stared at her holopad for so long the digital screen is making her eyes burn.

The solution to this problem, obviously, is to consume more coffee.

Which is why, on a rainy, Saturday night, Carol finds herself sitting alone in an empty coffee shop, downing espresso shots like they’re going out of style and (failing) at beginning her dissertation.

Her first draft starts well until it starts spiraling into a diary entry of _why I hate my fucking parents_ , so she starts again but then it turns into a rant on the last three decades militarization of Starfleet and the anti-progressive implications a peacekeeping armada mass-producing nuclear weapons means for the Federation.

Carol crumples her paper—(yes paper, because Carol is a fucking _nerd_ )—and takes another sip of her coffee. She has less than twelve months to finish the god-forsaken paper and she’s panicking already. This must be why her therapist says she has control issues.

She drops her forehead onto the table. Hard. “Fuck me,” she says out loud.

“I mean, I’m not going to say _no_ ,” a bemused voice replies. Carol’s head snaps up so fast, her neck cracks in protest.

In front of her is a familiar figure. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a lithe body wrapped up in a black leather jacket: James Tiberius _fucking_ Kirk slides gracefully into the seat opposite of her and takes a noisy gulp of his own coffee.

“‘sup Marcus,” he greets casually, as if they like. Know each other.

“Hngh?” she replies. You know, like a moron.

The corner of his mouth tilts up slightly. “Rough night?” he asks, glancing around at the crumpled papers, scattered holopads and various coffee cups littering her table.

Carol’s mood wilts again and she forgets that she and Kirk don’t know each other, let alone well enough to be having a casual conversation at 11:00 fucking PM at a remote coffee shop in downtown San Francisco. “You have no fucking idea,” she moans, dropping her head into her arms again. “I think I’m dying.”

“But it’s like. March.” He blinks at her. “Midterms aren’t until later this month.”

“It’s not midterms,” she mumbles almost intelligibly into her elbow. “ ‘s my di’sertation.”

“ _Ooh_ you’re up to that. Yikes.” His voice has pitched low in sympathy. “God, it took me eight shitty months to write my first one.”

Carol’s eyebrows furrow. “Your _first_ one?” She brings her head out of her elbow and drops her chin on top of her folded arms.

The blonde in front of her shrugs nonchalantly and waves his head dismissively. “Years ago, not at Starfleet. Unimportant.”

“Unimpor—”

“What _is_ important is that you don’t drink yourself into caffeine poisoning. Been there, done that darlin’, it’s not a pretty picture.”

Carol’s breath catches. _Darling_. The memory of a different voice curling his tongue around the word. Of a pair of gentle hands that she once trusted. A smile that soon turned cold.

Her heart _pounds_.

“My coffee intake is none of your business,” she gets out, grabbing her last coffee cup and draining it to stave off the hyperventilating that usually comes next after a flashback. And _of course_ it goes down wrong the wrong pipe and _oh god it’s in her nose and eyes_. Carol closes her eyes and presses a hand to her forehead as her vision swims and her windpipe convulses around cold beverage.

When she opens her eyes he’s grinning at her with satisfaction. And oh, _this_ is the Kirk she knows—the Kirk everyone knows. The arrogant, sex addicted _prat_ who can’t keep his fucking mouth shut unless there’s something _in it_.

It’s only when that Kirk surfaces that Carol finds herself remember who she is and who _he_ is and wondering why the _fuck_ he’s sitting with her at—(here she glances at the clock)—12:00 ass ‘o clock on a Sunday morning instead of spending it with his flavor of the week.

That, on top of the almost-panic attack she just had, sends her over the edge.

“Don’t you have better things to be doing?” she snaps, gathering her holopads together.

His grin drops slightly. “Marcus—”

“ _Cadet_ Marcus,” Carol snips.

“ _Cadet_ Marcus,” Kirk corrects smoothly. “Just…sit down a minute, okay?”

She eyes him warily, but sits down obligingly. She shoves her hands under her legs to hide the shaking. 

“I didn’t come here to needle you about your obvious caffeine addiction,” he admits, eyes sparkling amusedly.

“So you _did_ come here for a reason,” she mutters, not making eye-contact. “How did you even know I would be here?”

“I asked your roommate—”

“ _Christine_ told you?” Carol hisses, eyes snapping up to meet his.

“I need a favor,” Kirk interrupts, all traces of cockiness leaving him.

Carol flounders for a moment in confusion. “If this is some kind of sex thing—”

“Why the fuck do people always assume— _it’s not a sex thing_. I mean.” He pauses, suddenly looking nervous. “Not quite.”

“Okaaaay,” Carol says, thrown by his sudden uncertainty. “Care to elaborate, or are we just going to sit here looking pretty all night?”

Kirk looks like he wants to remark on her last comment, but swallows it down. “I need you to date me for a week.”

Carol throws her head back and _laughs_. It reverberates through the empty shop, but tapers off when she realizes he hasn’t joined her. In fact, he glaring at her sullenly, like there’s a bad taste in his mouth.

“Oh god, you’re serious,” she says, gasping for air.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he snaps.

Carol snorts. “Because you’re James _fucking_ Kirk. Dating doesn’t seem to really be your thing.”

“And what do you know about dating, _Carol Marcus_ ,” he retorts bitingly, eyeing her up. “I don’t exactly see you shacking up with anybody.”

“My dating life is none of your business.” She scowls at him.

“You’re right. Your _non-existent_ dating life _is_ none of my business,” he sneers.

Carol takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose and reminds herself that she insulted him first, not matter how true she believes it to be. “If you’re trying to convince me to date you, you’re doing an _amazing_ job here insulting me.”

There’s a pause. When Carol opens her eyes again, Kirk is contritely staring at his own hands which are tightly gripped around his coffee cup.

“Why do you need me to date you?”

He stares at her for a moment, taping his fingers restless against the glass table, but doesn’t say anything.

Carol sighs. She starts shoving her holopads into her bag, waiting for him to say something— _anything_. By the time she’s cleared the table of everything save for the numerous coffee cups— _okay maybe she_ does _have an addiction_ —he’s still not replied to her.

Carol stands up hesitantly.

“My brother’s getting married.”

Carol sits down again.

Kirk leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling. “I haven’t seen him since I was fourteen and it wasn’t over the best of circumstances, but my mom wants me to come back home for the wedding.”

“You can’t say no?” Carol gently questions.

He snorts. “My mom is _not_ the kind of person you say no to.”

Carol thinks of Commander Kirk’s hardass reputation and grimaces. “Okay. But where do I come in?” she questions, already having a pretty good idea.

He smiles humorlessly. “My family isn’t just “Starfleet Royalty,” he says, making air quotes around the words. “My mom comes from old money,” he explains. “When she married my dad, she married _down_ in terms of social class. This wedding isn’t just a wedding. It’s like _the event_ of the season. Everybody who’s anybody is going to be there, not just her Starfleet crowd. And Mom wants me on my _best behavior_ ,” he says loftily.

“So what, you need a date for the wedding? Why not ask one of your booty calls, I’m sure any of them would be thrilled to be girlfriend of the week,” she sarcastically mutters.

He glowers at her. “Trust me, you’re not my first pick. Unfortunately, I may have mislead her to believe you and I were dating a couple months ago and she’s been ecstatic to meet you ever since.”

“You told you’re mother we were _dating_?!” she shrieks in disbelief. “I don’t even _know_ you!”

“It was an accident!” he defends. “She has like some sort of female hard-on for you because of what happened with you and you’re dad—” (Carol’s heart skips a frantic beat) “—and she would _not_ let up on my dating life so I just kind of implied it without thinking about the consequences.”

Carol slaps a hand over her eyes dramatically and groans.

“And now she wants to meet you and is demanding I take you to the wedding,” Jim finishes apologetically.

There’s a lengthy pause where Carol digests this. “So what, we just take an entire week off to do this? I’m not missing classes just because you can’t tell your mom the fucking truth,” she protests.

“The wedding is over spring break. The engagement party is at the beginning of the week and the wedding itself is on the weekend.”

He barrels on when it looks like she’s going to argue. “I _know_ this is my fault and I should have never dragged you into this, but I’m literally begging you, Marcus,” he pleads, leaning forward. “I’m not going to force you to do this, but if you do I’ll owe you one.”

Carol raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to do better than that to convince me, Kirk.”

“Project Genesis,” he blurts out.

She freezes.

“I can get you access to files on Project Genesis,” he says, lowering his voice.

“How do you even know about that,” Carol hisses, leaning forward.

He raises an eyebrow smugly. “Because I’m James _fucking_ Kirk,” he parrots her own words back.

“ _Fine_ , you have a deal.”

Kirk blinks in surprise, mouth falling open.

“I pretend to date you over spring break and you give me _everything_ you have on Project Genesis. But if you’re lying to me about having access or if it’s some low level clearance file that I could get by going to the fucking library, I’ll tell your mother and anyone who’ll listen that I was blackmailed into it and that you cry during sex.”

Kirk’s lips twitch. “Deal. And for the record, I only cry when it’s _good_ sex, so there’s no way you’re ever gonna see it happen.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Give me your comm.”

He obliges, watching her closely as she puts her own number in it and sends herself a message. “Give me a call at least a week in advance before the first event. I actually have a life that I can’t drop at a moment’s notice.”

“Noted.” He snaps his comm shut when she hands it back and stuffs it into his back pocket. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Marcus.” Kirk flashes her a winning smile.

Carol rolls her eyes. “Yeah yeah, get out. I still have a whole-arse dissertation to write and bio-ethics homework to get done. I’m sure there’s _someone_ on campus waiting to blow you.”

He grins. “ _Everyone_ on campus is waiting to blow me. Except you, apparently.”

She ignores him, pointedly gathering up her coffee cups and heading toward the trash bin. “See you around, Kirk.”

“See you around, girlfriend,” he replies, stretching languidly before unnecessarily shimmying out of his chair. 

Carol rolls her eyes and disposes her trash, listening for the sound of the door shutting after him. When she’s sure he’s finally gone, she heads back toward her table, groaning.

“What have I gotten myself into,” she mutters.

An entire week of pretending to date James fucking Kirk. An entire week at a wedding for stupidly rich people.

 _It’s worth it_ , she tells herself. _Think of Project Genesis._

Carol’s not sure there was anything in the entire universe that could possibly be worth dating James Tiberius Kirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god look at these nerds

**Author's Note:**

> me: kircus fic yaaaas
> 
> my brain: carol angst
> 
> me: shit u right
> 
> _______________
> 
> come yell at me about kircus on [tumblr](https://fallen-player.tumblr.com//)


End file.
